(no subject)
One of those nights: Thom sleeps calmly, one thin forearm flung across his face, wrist depending gently into his hair. His breath comes slow and even, lips parted, dry.
He is dreaming: somewhere at the limits of an ocean, feet bare in the sand, he looks up at the sun and does not blink. In the distance lingers the faint, high sound of strings. As if Court had brought a party to the edge of the world. As if it were summertime.
He is dreaming: somewhere at the limits of an ocean, feet bare in the sand, he looks up at the sun and does not blink. In the distance lingers the faint, high sound of strings. As if Court had brought a party to the edge of the world. As if it were summertime.